Die Ziet, Gheist?
by Mitzi Dracfrow
Summary: Gilbert AKA former nation of Prussia questions his ongoing existence and tries to define what exactly he is, but gets hung up on a word that up until now hasn't ever meant anything to him. Is figuring out his identity like eating from the tree of good and evil? Will learning the truth break the spell holding him in this world, will death come to claim him? not germancest


"Zeit·geist[tsahyt-gahyst] noun - the spirit of the time; general trend of thought or feeling characteristic of a particular period of time."

Gilbert stared down at the word in the dictionary, scrutinizing it meticulously. It was true that he usually wasn't a guy one would find poring over and drinking in a book of all things, and certainly not one written in English. No, lately most of his nights could be summed up by him consuming a decent amount of alcohol and getting into trouble or being up to no good, or just being a useless pain in the butt, or so his brother claimed, most any other nights. But not this one.

This one he was getting out nearly all the books he never looked at, his old bible, history textbooks and now even an English to German translation book and even a book titled English for dummies. As if that alone wasn't odd enough, a multitude of even more books surrounded him. It was as if the whole bookshelf and the library had sneezed a very ironic tornado onto him, or rather all around him, while he sat cross-legged in the middle, which seemed to be just about the only free space in the room, and what was he doing? Reading of all things!

Though, it was the word he was so concerned over, it was German, wasn't it?...well more of an English born compound German word. Zeit meant time. Gheist meant ghost. which in turn had led him to always written off as one of those silly new words his brother had added in, meaning, he assumed, some sort of made up fictitious things, such as Norway's troll or England's imaginary friends, or that odd little grey thing America so affectionately called "Tony". Though when he finally had the word looked up, in English after having come to a dead end in German, he was shocked to see that it was no poltergeist or alien, but rather some apparent "spirit of time". A sort of thing that is apparently within history. That represents ideas people have.

The more he delved into this concept, the more eerie it became to him. It first tugged at the edges of his mind, a thought, a guess. It then invaded the recesses of it and haunted it so until it engulfed it,until all it was all he could ask himself. He barely dared to breath, the thought of coughing or sneezing worried him. He tried to stop shivering, and pretended he didn't feel so empty. He instead focused on the line from the definition that seemed so finite. "a particular period of time "as in from this time, to another time that it ends in. Or in other words, ceases to exist.

Like him? Did he truly dare to think it? To wonder about the possibilities this might mean? About the particularly unawesomest one?...a world…..with no him. What if now he, no longer being a nation, would cease to be a personification? Would be a zeitgeist? His age…his era…his reign…was over. This weakness he had felt…the cold. This fear…this nagging feeling. Was it a cryptic sign that someday…..possibly very soon…he would go up in a puff of smoke? He would suddenly turn invisible? Fade away? Had it already begun?

His voice…it did seem softer. His touch…others seemed to barely feel. His footsteps…seemed too light to hear…Was it just that Slavic had broken his spirit?...or that he would soon be here…only in spirit? Perhaps that was why they hadn't allowed him in any of the recent meetings. Did they always do this? Anytime a nation officially is no longer one, do the others ostracize him because that's just the way things are done? Or could it be something far more worse. Those nations become mortal and die?...or are snuffed out?...or do they just sadly disappear, and gout like a candle flame rather than a bang? Would he too go out like that? So quietly? Would anyone notice?

Come to think of it, he couldn't quite seem to recall when Rome left, or his own father…or even Holy Rome…how could he not have truly noticed? How could no one notice? Would he be just like them?...and if he did…would he be a ghost? Going unseen…or haunting everyone who was still left? Or…would he end up in heaven?...or hell? Would he be carried away by angels? Or dragged down by demons?

It was just as poor Gilbert was pondering all of that with a very somber heart that his brother, Ludwig, arrived home. It had been storming, so he had been wearing a clear rain poncho over dark clothes and a black coat. His umbrella he was also holding, even though it had gotten torn. He figured it was more sensible to take it home and recycle it rather than leave it outside or throw it away. So after taking the rain poncho off he started down the hallway by the room Gilbert was in, the study on his way to the recycling bins. He was anxious to get this done, and still rather cold so he hadn't bothered to take his hood off. Plus there was the chance Gil might see his messed up wet hair and make fun of him or take a picture and use it against him. again.

He sighed though it came out as more of a groan as he was almost there, but then he saw a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye from inside the study. Ever the concerned younger brother, he decided to check in on it in case it was a cigarette Gilbert had forgotten to put out smoldering on the carpet about to start a fire.

Though as soon as he burst in, the tiny candle that still hadn't gone out on Gil blew out, and Gil looked up to find, to his horror and black hooded figure holding some sort of scythe. Gil let out an involuntary bloodcurdling scream before promptly fainting. His brother rushed to his side worried at his brothers even more unusual than normal pallor. He kneeled next to him and checked his vitals, and made a note to himself to not let Gilbert watch anymore scary movies for a while. Or do whatever the hell it was that he was doing in here.

It was right then that he felt the dampness in the carpet that he backed away slightly scrunching his nose up at the smell of urine and frowned. That is, until he stood up and noticed Gilbert's infamous blackmailing camera lying around. Then a grin began to ghost itself onto his face when he realized what this meant. He turned on the camera and started to take a few compromising snapshots of Gil having wet himself, biting his lip to hold back his snickers. It seemed that, for tonight at least, the tables had turned, and it would actually be the master prankster, and not him who would be getting embarrassed this time. Well, like they say, what comes around goes around.


End file.
